


Sir Castiel and Dean the Green Knight

by Alicethrutheburrows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Answering the age old question of what if, Arthur and his round table...rewritten by Alice, Arthurian poets can roll over in their graves and fight me, Chivalry, Christmas setting, Dean gets to use his last night on earth pick up line, Falling in love done in idiot style of course which includes grand gestures, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Heads will literally roll, Inspired by work, Its time for a quest, King!Dean, King!Gabriel, Knight!Dean, Knightly Games, Knights - Freeform, Lets chop off some heads, Loosely related to original work, M/M, Magic and creatures exist in this world, No worries he's too smart to fall for that, Poor Cas has to worry about being seduced, creature!dean, knight!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicethrutheburrows/pseuds/Alicethrutheburrows
Summary: Long ago, in a kingdom written now in just knightly tales this story begins. Knights, quests, duty, honor, and magic all threaded together in this holiday ficlet. On Christmas Eve in the Kingdom of Camelot, King Gabriel is hosting is annual feast when an unexpected visitor appears. With a challenge issued Sir Castiel rises up, and his fate is forever changed. He'll venture to find the Green Chapel and the mysterious Green Knight in order to keep his word. A quest that has inspired generation after generation of storytelling.OrThe one where I answer the age old question of what if Sir Castiel did follow his desires.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 21
Collections: HolidayCollection





	1. The Green Knight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sir Gawain and the Green Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/549343) by Unknown. 

> Welcome! This ficlet was inspired by the cocklesdestielfanfic Holiday Challenge. I am well aware I am stretch the meaning of a holiday fanfic, but to make up for the lack of traditional holiday fiction here is some lovely knights, adventure, and finally some smut from me. So take my hand and follow me down my rabbit hole, adventure awaits!

### 

_And They Say Chivalry Is Dead_

##### 

_The motto of chivalry is also the motto of wisdom;  
To serve all but love only one. - Honore De Balzac_

* * *

All the tables in the great hall donned the best decorations for the holiday. Oranges and holly served as centerpieces while the silverware sparkled. Spirits in Camelot Castle matched the merry season, free and jolly. Laughter and chatter echoed in every space in the hall. 

Gabriel, King of Camelot, rocked back in his chair soaking in the sight of his subjects during this most joyous time. The holiday season marked a melting of old traditions with new. The one tradition that seemed to stand the test of time was the King’s game. Every year the game was different, last year no one was allowed to leave hall until the first break of dawn and the year before no one was allowed to enter the hall without a hat of the extraordinary kind. This year no one had permission to eat until the King was amused, it was more general than previous years, but the King had high hopes about the events of the evening. 

Close to the witching hour, the food had long grown cold as did the laughter and chatter. Gabriel fiddled with his chalice utterly bored, a scowl adorning his features. Christmas Eve and not one of his subjects had provided the entertaining evening he had wished for. But one should always be careful about what they wish for because they might just receive it.

The air grew still, stifling then the hall doors burst open allowing electric cold air to flood in. Hushed voices whispered amongst one another as anxious nobles peered at the blown wide doors. Thuds too heavy to be solely a man enchanted all the subjects, not one pair of eyes blinked as the sounds neared. 

Dishes, chairs, and even the ground beneath everyone’s feet shook as if the earth was quaking. A combine gasped echoed as the owner of the sounds made their entrance, their presence unlike anything the kingdom had seen. The giant of a man stood proud among his giant of a horse. But it was not his size that had captured the guest’s attention, it was his coloring. The man was cloaked in green like forest itself had draped over the man and his horse. 

Every shade of green presented itself—hunter green fur covered the stallion while its fern green mane was beautifully braided, leafy green clothing accented the shamrock green of the man’s skin, and no emerald in the kingdom could hold a candle to the shimmery green found in the man’s eyes. He was as stunning as he was green. Broad shoulders led down to a trim waistline supported by strong, thick thighs tensing slightly against the mighty beast beneath. Not one muscle moved, nor one breath breathed as the knight trotted his horse right up to the King’s table. 

In one hand the knight carried a cluster of holly matching those amongst the tables and in the other an elaborate wicked axe matching the wicked smile on the man’s face. Myths of such beings had long been passed down from their forefathers, although none had believed such tales until now. 

The Green Knight scanned the subjects, glaring at everyone equally when his attention finally settled on the King himself. The wicked smile disappeared momentarily as the giant licked his lips, only to return even more mischievous. 

Pushing his chair back, Gabriel stood. A clap of his hands seemed to break the spell ensnaring his guests, he countered the knight’s smile with one of his own. 

“Welcome, you have made quite the entrance.” The King tipped his chin down in a polite gesture of acknowledgement. Straightening himself once again slightly amused with this turn of events, the King continued to welcome this surprise visitor. “I am head of this house and my name is Gabriel, please dismount from your steed and relax so we may learn what warrants such a visit from one as yourself.”

“I will do nothing of the such,” The knight’s smile never faltered despite the bitter sound of his words. “Is this not Camelot? Home of the infamous round table knights in which bards sing numerous ballads across the lands, and the mere mention makes the knees weak in every maiden?”

“One in the same,” the King announced, puffing up his chest—the perfect picture of pride. The surrounding knights though bristled, hands instinctively reaching for their sword handles, muscles pulled taunt like a bow string ready to defend in a moment’s notice.

The corner of the Green Knight’s mouth ticked up, but his smile remained. His eyes hungrily devoured the sight of the growing nervousness radiating from the round table knights. Feeling the impending tension, the King casted a warning glance to his knights for no blood should be spilled on such a joyous night. 

“If you shall not be so inclined to dismount from your beast, perhaps you would share your story in order to bring ease to my subjects.” Gabriel said, his tone light yet threaded with authority. 

“Fear is not worn well by knights such as yourselves, may the bards who sing your praises fall ill for their lies.” The Green Knight said, spitting on the floor following his words. Tsks, and clucks of tongues came from the knights, but the King threw an outstretch hand to silence their annoyance. 

The frown stretching for miles on Gabriel’s face accompanied his stretching thin patience. “Have you come for blood sir?” 

A bellow of a laugh came from the mysterious stranger. Holding up the sprig of holly, the Green Knight spoke when he regained his senses. “As you see I am not dressed for battle, nor would I be worried if I was by the looks of your so-called knights. I have come in search of the bravest knights in the land, for this Round Table, I heard, is where one can find the most valiant. By this branch in my hand you must know that I come in peace. But if the knights here are as brave as other men tell, you will grant me what I wish.”

“Pray, tell us then what is it you wish?”

“A mere Christmas game your majesty,” He begun, “If anyone here believes himself so hardy and quick as to be able to give stroke for stroke, I will make him a gift of this fine axe,” Lowering the holly, the mythical green man held in front of him the intricately decorate axe, “I will attempt to withstand the first blow from it, totally unarmed. If anyone is so inclined to take my challenge, make your way to me quickly and pick up this weapon. He may keep it as his own. And I will withstand his stroke unflinching, right here, right now. Know only that if I survive the first blow, I may return a stroke in kind one year and a day from now.”

The stunned men were now utterly speechless. Silence once again befell the grand hall, crickets the only sound filling the gap causing the giant of a man to arch his brow. “Is this the esteemed King Gabriel’s house, hailed throughout the world? Where are the ballads of your conquests and flowery words? Is all the renown of the Round Table silence by a mere speech, when no fight is even involved?” The Green Knight hissed, his words belittling the greatness of the kingdom he stood in. He leaned forward on his mighty beast, narrowing his eyes to stare into the soul of all but sacred King. 

Blood shot through Gabriel’s face, shame apparent. Shame gave way to anger snapping the restraint the King had thus shown. “Now see here! There is none at this table frightened by your simple words. If it’s a game you seek, then by heaven, it’s a game you shall have. Hand me that bloody axe, and I shall strike the first blow!”

The Green Knight nodded his head in acceptance, finally sliding from his horse to the ground. The King approached taking the axe from the visitor’s hand. The weapon seemed hefty as Gabriel swung it around to familiarize himself with its weight and swing. Amusement danced across the man’s green features as he watched the King swing the great axe, his posture completely relaxed. Satisfied with his knowledge of the weapon, Gabriel turned towards the Green Knight, ready to inflict his blow. 

“Enough!” A voice rang out followed by a slam of hands on hard wood. Sir Castiel stood, straightening his attire. “Sire, I beseech you.” He said, “Let this game be mine. It is not fitting for you, our King, to take this mockery on yourself.” Moving his hand in a sweeping motion, Sir Castiel continued. “On these benches sit the finest knights of the land, I hold a seat here because you are my uncle and the blood in your veins also flows in mine. It is only proper that I am the one to put my life on the line for such nonsense rather than you, my liege.”

Sir Castiel moved from his seat to stand beside the King. The Green Knight trailed his eyes up and down, sizing up the new challenger. “What is your name brave soul?” The green giant questioned. 

“Sir Castiel,” The knight answered, staring straight up at the head taller intruder. 

“With a change of challenger comes a change of rules,” The Green Knight said. “Do you still accept?”

“Yes,” Sir Castiel said, ignoring the angry whispers from Gabriel beside him. 

“If I survive your blow brave knight, you shall seek me yourself to receive yours.” 

Castiel nodded in agreeance, reaching for the axe in the King’s hand. Gabriel caught his wrist pulling his nephew close to whisper in his ear. “Cassie, listen to me. Cut him once, and if you do this well, you will not need to concern yourself.” Letting go of the knight’s wrist, the King tapped his nephew’s cheek lightly with an open palm before stepping aside to the let game begin. 

Emerald eyes met blazing sapphire blue. All spectators stood on the edge of their seats waiting for the game to unfold. Castiel approached as the Green Knight broke their staring game to kneel, letting this head fall forward to expose his broad green neck. Tightening his grip on the great axe, Castiel stepped up to the kneeling man. He examined the mysterious stranger for a second paying no mind to the growing anxiety of the room, once he was content that the stranger would indeed not flinch Castiel moved to strike.

With one fell swoop, Castiel’s axe clove through the stranger’s skin, through his very bone and implanted on the floor. Blood splattered across his armor, spurted from the body and painted a red river across the floor. Horrified gasps and gleeful cheers rang out. The Green Knight’s discarded head rolled a mere few inches. 

Huffing, Sir Castiel rocked the axe back and forth freeing it from the ground’s hold. A glass shaking shriek snapped Castiel’s attention from the severed head to a pointing wailing women. Her finger pointing directly towards the Green Knight’s body, now twitching to life. The Green Knight’s body stood, scoping up its lost head and mounting his mighty stallion. Quicker than a flash of lighting, Castiel shoved the King behind and raised the grand axe, ready to protect or die trying, as the decapitated head opened its shining green eyes. 

“Sir, I have withstood your blow. Now you must keep your word, in one year and one day you shall seek me at the Green Chapel and receive what is rightfully yours.” The Green Knight said.

“A knight’s word is his duty; I shall scour the ends of the earth for this Chapel.” Sir Castiel spoke, words gracefully fearless in their delivery. Satisfied with his challenger’s response, the Green Knight smiled an all-knowing smile followed by a see-you-soon wink. One handedly turning his horse, the magic stranger’s exit was as dramatic as his entrance as he galloped headless out of the grand hall. 

A slow clap started a thunderous applause. The King turned, roaring to his subjects, “Let’s eat!” 

Gabriel led the feast in a grand fashion lasting well into the early hours of the morning.

Unconsciously, Castiel rubbed at his neck as the festivities flared to life behind him; the hand of fate had already begun ticking—one year and one day. 

One year and one day.

* * *


	2. The Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure begins when Castiel sets out to find the Green Chapel. Following a mysterious pull in his heart, he ends up with more than he bargained for meeting King Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for this chapter taking SO long. I wanted to pay homage to the original Middle English text and in doing spent so much timing over-analyzing my words instead of just telling the story. BUT I did have a wonderful beta (Bekindplsrewind or you can find them as Peanutbutterandgrapejelly) who pushed me to finish and took the story from yikes to hopefully likes. Seriously, my beta deserves all the love for being so fantastic. I hope you enjoy this quest, it was rather fun to write. So without further ado, follow me down this medieval rabbit hole for another knight's adventure.

### 

Adventure Awaits

##### 

Time: a cruel mistress who waited for no one.

* * *

Yesterdays upon yesterdays faded away, much like black and white, blooming into yellows, pinks, and light greens; the day stretching sun-kissed meadows, fields, and skin. Darkness chased the light, the sun, and the moon in an endless cycle, drawing fate ever closer. Soon the greens darkened, and the heat brought more work to the kingdom.

Being a well-seasoned knight, Sir Castiel took charge of training the squires. Sweat, tears, and manners taught a basic foundation of skills: sword handling, footwork, shield defense, and knightly honor, but the training nagged a little corner at the back of Castiel’s mind. A tiny voice whispered—blow for blow—as metal clanged against metal while he taught proper sword striking. 

Warmth roiled into blazing heat. Sunshine scorched across the land, not even the coolest rivers could provide comfort. The nagging whisper became an insistent hiss, demanding attention. Castiel consulted the King, fearing time was slipping through his fingers.

“Silly,” the King insisted, right before shipping Sir Castiel to a northern village to settle a small dispute in his name. “Time is still in your favor, Cassie.” It was surely impolite to roll one’s eyes at their King, but being the King’s nephew afforded Castiel such leeway.

Harvest season always brought small scrimmages amongst the subjects, extreme bartering usually the worst bout of fighting. In regard to the northern village, it appeared to be under duress from a rogue party of forest men. With an expert strategy, well-timed attacks, and a sprinkle of luck, Castiel managed to send the attackers back to where once they came from with no casualties.

Along with a tune of his victory, vibrant reds and setting sun oranges swept the land. The beautiful colors were an ugly reminder of the passage of time, soaring by like a sparrow, only to be devoured by an eagle. That was the slow undertaking of the trip home. 

All Saint’s Day approached as Sir Castiel was welcomed back to the castle. The hiss in the corner, which no longer wished to be ignored, became a rough rattle. Gabriel insisted his nephew linger around the castle until All Saint’s Day—there was no harm in having a saint watch over your travels—and Castiel was helpless in being able to deny his uncle. Only the Christmas festivals put those of All Saint’s Day to shame. Rather than celebrate, the nervous knight watched the sunset over the kingdom, watched as the night murdered the sun, splashing crimson streaks across the horizon. Touching his neck gingerly, he sighed at the sight, praying it was not an omen of what was to come.

Hustling and bustling workers wandered the halls preparing for Sir Castiel’s leave, the King sparing no expense for his own blood. Fresh linen trousers and shirts were sewn for the journey; his armor polished to a mirror finish; the blade of his sword was trued so sharp, it could slice a single blade of grass. And the great axe the Green Knight had bestowed to him lay fastened to his back. Gringolet, Sir Castiel’s most trusted horse, was prepared with satchels loaded on both sides. 

Watching the finishing preparations, the King pulled his nephew aside. “Cassie, are you sure you wish to embark on this journey?”

“A knight is only good as his word, Gabe,” Castiel scoffed. 

“Make sure you come home; the squires will be more useless than maggots without you,” the King said, raising his hand to brush his nephew’s cheek before handing over his helmet. 

“No need for worry. A man must confront his fate, be it good or bad.” 

Swinging his leg over his horse and settling into his saddle, Castiel sent up a silent prayer as he said goodbye to the woeful faces of the castle. The villagers outside the castle waved and blew tearful kisses at their beloved knight as he passed through. Their feelings were on full display, none believing he would survive. Despite their combined lack of faith, Castiel sealed his fate so many moons ago, and now he was bound to answer its call. 

On the edge of the village, at the cusp of the forest and surrounding hills, Castiel pulled Gringolet to a halt. Surveying the valley, trees, and the castle he had called home for so long in the distance, Castiel felt eerily calm, if not a little bewildered. How was he to find the Green Chapel with no direction? Running a hand over his face, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until now.

When his hope was all but dry, he felt it; he felt a tether of some sort tugging him northwest. Pulling on Gringolet’s reins, he set on his path, northwest thus beginning his quest. 

Nothing, absolutely nothing—no knight training, manners, food, money, skill, or luck—could have prepared Castiel for the troubles that had plagued him. Into the first week after not finding a single inn to house him for a night, he had been robbed and chased by various dangerous animals, including but not limited to: bears, boars, bulls, ogres, feisty mountain men, and some rather vicious deer. He felt no closer to his destination than he had before.

Regardless of his pains, he was a man of his word. Castiel pushed on, following the tug in his chest through freezing, cold rivers, rough and rocky terrain, and the occasional should-not-be-here-past-dark parts of various villages. Although the journey had been less than ideal, it was far more manageable than when mistress winter made her appearance. Covering the land in her icy breath, she held no mercy for the knight as he navigated the trees she’d drained of life with her frosty caress.

As the amount of sunlight grew shorter, so did Sir Castiel’s days to find the Green Chapel. Having grown stiff from riding, he took to walking side-by-side with Gringolet. The stretching of his legs felt nice, although it did little to ease the taunt tension plaguing his muscles. Castiel sighed at the sight before him, another frozen thicket of timber. Every tree looked identical to the last, each passing one aiding in his growing frustration. The tug he had been following faithfully had seemingly vanished upon entering the forest leaving him wandering senselessly amongst the trees. Tripping over some hidden branches, Gringolet’s reins slipped through Castiel’s fingers and his shins hit the ground hard. Anger swelled in the knight. He rolled over onto his back attempting to catch his breath after screaming all of his frustrations into the void. Would it make a difference if he were to perish now at the hand of Mother Earth rather than the Green Knight’s? 

The chilly ground provided no comfort for the knight as his world spun.

“What kind of knight am I?” he wondered aloud. “No knight worth his salt if I can’t keep my word.” Castiel stared at the clouded sky. “Is this how I die? No glory, no honor, just alone in a forgotten forest.” Throwing an arm over his eyes in an attempt to steady himself, he tried to rein his overflowing emotions.

“No. No, this is not how I will leave this plane.” Castiel shook his head. The Lord often tested those in mysterious ways, always seeming to give humans a length of rope. Whether they decided to pull themselves up or use it to hang themselves was up to the individual—Castiel was determined to be the former.

He pulled himself up from the ground and stared heavenward as if he was talking to the Lord face to face. “Lord, give me a sign,” he began, praying, “have I not been your loyal servant? Guide my way, I beg of you.”

The tug that had grown faint since he had entered the godforsaken forest became a strong pull. Swiftly, the knight regained his stoic demeanor and remounted his faithful companion, sending up a silent thank you to whoever had listened to his prayer. Castiel weaved Gringolet in and out of the trees as he chased the feeling. In the distance, the trees seemed to shimmer, causing Castiel to squint. The fog layering the underbrush looked almost iridescent. Perhaps another time Castiel would have stopped and questioned it, but with a deep breath, he kicked Gringolet’s side, urging his horse to go faster. 

The forest finally gave way to a grassy knoll, and in the short distance upon a hill stood a beautiful stone castle.

“Woah,” Castiel said, slowing his horse.

The pull dissipated.

The knight swallowed. Whatever fate offered, it was here. 

He steered Gringelot towards the castle. A pair of attending guards at the gate drew their arms upon his arrival. 

“I mean you no harm,” Sir Castiel said, sliding from his horse. Judging from the guard’s apprehension, they were concerned about his less than knightly appearance. “My name is Sir Castiel. May I speak with your majesty here?” 

Both guards blinked while lowering their weapons. The one on the left spoke first, “Sir Castiel? As in the angel of Camelot?” 

Castiel bowed. “One and the same. Please let your King know I am here and that I seek lodging for the night.”

A silent communication passed between the pair of guards before the one on the right signaled for Castiel to follow. The guard stopped short, turning around to speak, “Leave your horse here. We shall stable and feed him.” Castiel nodded in agreeance, handing over the reins to the other guard. 

Walking the halls, Castiel was in awe. It was as if summer had been stolen and draped amongst the walls, everything decorated in lavish greens and golds. With it, a forest of wood took the form of intricate, hand-carved arches and pillars, touching the floor to ceiling. Castiel had seen tremendous beauty in his travels yet none held a torch to the brilliance of the castle he stood in now.

The guard announced him as they entered the throne room. “Your Highness, Sir Castiel of Camelot.” On instinct, everyone kneeled as the King stood. 

“Please rise, brave knight. I’ve been told you seek shelter for the night.” The King’s voice was like silk, spun from the finest silkworms. Castiel rose to meet the King’s eye. A constellation of freckles accompanied by a pair of gorgeous green eyes greeted him. For the second time that day, the knight felt all the air leave his lungs. He should have responded to the King, but any form of words died on his tongue at the sight of plush pink lips slipping into a smile. 

The King turned to the group of maidens who were lingering off to the side. “Ladies, will one of you take our guest here to one of the spare rooms? Draw him a bath and fetch him some clean clothes. He will be joining us for dinner.”

Castiel nodded at the King’s words, saying a polite thank you while stealing another glance at the King’s bemused smile. Once he was led into his room, he realized he’d forgotten to ask his majesty’s name because he’d been so enamored by the King’s ethereal beauty The attending maiden informed the knight his bath was ready, snapping him from his stupor. 

Peeling off his armor and cloth tatters, Castiel felt a sense of freedom seeing his bare skin for the first time in weeks. He let out a deep groan when he submerged himself into the steamy water. Before scrubbing at the dirt, Castiel granted himself a moment of indulgence, letting the world disappear as he closed his eyes. His heated skin hid the flush he felt on his face when he asked the attending maiden to empty the now charcoal water and to refill the bath once more with fresh water. The want to be thoroughly clean had nothing to do with seeing those green eyes again; he’d rather be called a fool than admit otherwise. 

The warm water washed away the remaining dirt and weeks’ worth of aching muscles. It brought Castiel the closest he had felt to being human since he had left Camelot. Only once his skin was past pruning and borderline shriveling like dried fruit did the knight accept the awaiting maiden’s linen cloth. He made quick work of drying himself before wrapping the cloth around his waist, for the cool air outside the warmth of the bath left his body littered in goosebumps. Searching for the new clothes that were promised to cover his cooling skin, a reflection in the mirror caught Castiel’s eye, giving him pause. 

Tilting his head, he inched closer to the sight, instinctively drawn to it like a moth to an open flame. The mirror reflected an image of a man the knight was not intimately acquainted with. His wet hair fell well into his eyes, too shaggy and unkempt; a full yet stringy beard had taken residency on his usually clean-shaven face, and a sense of age from constant woes and lack of restful sleep occupied the corners of his eyes. The man in the mirror looked more like a haunted village beggar than a well-known knight of Camelot. Castiel ran a tentative hand through his dampened locks, feeling lucky his name carried such esteem, for seeing his own reflection, he would not have blamed the guards for turning him away. 

As if reading his mind, the maiden approached the knight with a gentle, knowing smile while holding out the handle of a blade for him to take. Giving her a curt nod and a soft thank you, Castiel set to work. Every patch of hair falling to the ground felt like a part of the past few weeks falling off with it—the robbery, the animals, being lost time and time again, struggling across all terrains seemingly sent from the seven circles of hell—all of it. Disappearing patch by patch, each strand of hair being cut short from his head, a cut closer to the knight waiting underneath. The blade running along against his skin felt like grasping destiny by the horns; if he was going to be leaving the earthly world soon, Castiel would rather do so looking like a knight worthy of meeting his maker. 

Once satisfied with the man staring back at him, Castiel set forth through the room on the hunt for the clothes left out for him. The tan trousers were tighter than preferred compared to the billowy sheer white shirt occupying his torso. The new socks and boots felt like a godsend on his well-traveled feet. After dressing, Castiel tousled his dark strands, now finger-length instead of a disorientated mop, trying to tame the locks into something somewhat presentable. 

“Sir,” the maiden whispered, “any longer and you’ll have kept his majesty waiting.”

Castiel muttered his apologies as he finished fingering his hair. His last intention was to keep the King waiting. Realizing his hair was untamable no matter how much he nit-picked, he turned toward the awaiting girl. “I’m ready.”

Clearing her throat while casting her eyes down, she gave a curt nod of her head and gestured for him to follow. “This way, Sir.” Castiel didn’t miss the pink tint to her cheeks. If he were another knight, he might spark a conversation or flirt, but no maiden ever held his gaze. So, he politely followed her while ignoring her bashful glances to the feasting hall.

The knight took a moment to scan the grand table upon the announcement of his arrival. His eyes connected with the King’s instantly, though his majesty was hard not to miss at the head of the table. Castiel titled his head in curiosity as he watched the King adjust himself in his seat by throwing one leg over the other then back again. Once, twice, three times. With a small cough, his majesty broke eye contact, turning to those he was talking to beforehand and then appearing to pardon himself from the table. 

Sir Castiel swore he could count the number of heartbeats until the King was standing in front of him. The thumping of his heart deafened all other sounds besides the rapidly growing pulse in his chest. He watched the King’s lips move, forming words that did not touch his ears. Helpless but to track the sight of the lips stretching into a slow smile, Castiel realized he neither heard the King’s greeting nor learned his name yet.

Like longing to learn the name of a sweet-smelling flower, Castiel yearned to learn the King’s.  
Registering this information through his muddled mind, Castiel gave a curt bow, worried his lingering silence was bordering on rude. 

“Pardon me my liege.”

“I see the bath eased more than just your muscles.” The King’s tone was light as it was teasing. 

“Perhaps I am still befuddled from my travels Lord…” Castiel said, drawing out the last word in hope’s the King would…

“Forgive me, Sir Castiel, for not introducing myself sooner,” the king spoke, throwing a smirk while clearly picking up on the knight’s intentions. “Lord Winchester. But seeing as you are my guest, please call me Dean.”

Lifting his eyes to stare into the two pools of liquid spring, Castiel breathed the name like he was blowing air on a spark to start a fire. “Dean,” the next words fanned the spark into flames spreading warmth from his chest to the tips of his ears, “what a lovely name.”

The cheeky smile Dean gave was infectious with Castiel returning one of his own. Stepping a hair closer, the King threw an arm across the knight’s shoulders. “Come,” he guided Castiel towards the table, “meet the rest of my family and let us feast while you entertain us with stories of your travels.” 

Rounding the edge of the table, Dean began introductions with the surrounding village leaders and merchants sitting at the end and moving steadily towards the other end. Names and titles were rattled faster than Castiel could comprehend; he nodded politely with every new individual whilst shaking hands with a smile. The warmth from the King’s hand on his shoulder kept the knight distracted from feeling annoyance with the introductions taking longer than his entire endeavor here did. 

Finally, the pair reached the head of the table with only the most important greetings left. The King’s brother, Prince Samuel—or Sam as he preferred—towered seemingly a whole head taller over the knight. 

“And this is Lady Joanna Beth and her mother Lady Ellen.” Dean arched an eyebrow at the knight. “Lady Jo is like a sister to me and is held as the kingdom’s beauty.” Seeing Lady Jo with her flowing golden hair, flawless, fair skin, and soft enticing features, it was easy to imagine her enthralling the hearts of the kingdom. But a sneaky thought crawled through Castiel’s mind, leaving him to ponder whether the King did not own a mirror among his possessions. Sir Castiel politely kissed the top of the Lady’s offered hand in lieu of a greeting; he did not miss the mischievous glint in her eyes as he did so nor her mother’s cold dagger stare. Lady Jo appeared to be like a ruby, beautiful yet full of fire. And like every precious gem, Lady Jo had fierce protectors—Lady Ellen and the King. 

Dean pulled Castiel in close to whisper in his ear after the knight released the Lady’s hand. “No man has dared to lay a finger on my sister. Don’t try and be the first.” The threat fell on deaf ears though. While Lady Jo indeed was beautiful, she held no part of Sir Castiel’s interest. The knight wanted to chuckle; his life was promised to the Green Knight almost a year ago, but he thought better of it instead while Dean manhandled him into a seat. 

A seat next to the King’s. 

The knight glanced at the glorious feast before him, meats and fruits of all varieties covered the table. After living on a diet of forest foragings for several weeks, Castiel’s stomach gave an audible growl at the sight of wafting steam. Hunger outweighed his embarrassment from the sounds of his stomach, even when Dean flashed a sly smirk in the knight’s direction as he announced for everyone to begin. 

Following the announcement, the room divulged into chewing and conversation. Sir Castiel taught his squires' proper knight etiquette, often preaching against human indulgence, but at the first taste of the delicious salty mounds of meat, his own teachings went forgotten. He hummed happily around each bite, chasing the deliciousness with sips of wine in between. 

For a moment the knight came back to himself upon realizing his eating habits might be considered rude, but seeing the King demonstrate even more atrocious eating habits than his own, he relaxed back into his seat. Catching Castiel’s glances, Dean leaned back in his seat after finishing the last bite of his food. 

“Sir Castiel, won’t you entertain us with stories of your victories?” the King asked, leaning slightly forward towards the knight. “Perhaps start with a tale of your victory in the northern villages? That one seems to carry the best tune.” 

“It was nothing more than a small scrimmage your highness, scaring a few forest men back to once from whence they came was hardly worth the song the bards wrote,” the knight replied, taking a small sip of his wine. 

“Oh, but the bards sang how fast you flew into action on the battlefield. Fearlessly riding into the depths of attacking men. Oh, how did they put it…” Dean’s words lingered before he snapped his fingers, “ah, yes, ‘the knight who rode fearlessly into the depths of battle like a dark angel delivering justice—’”

“Your highness, I promise you it was a mere disagreement solved with a little bit of luck and a well-timed attack.”

The King stuck out his bottom lip in a slight pout, fiddling with the top of his glass. “But the bards—”

“Bards will say they are packing a squash when it’s merely a turnip my lord,” Castiel interrupted, staring into the King’s eyes. Immediate regret filled his mind for not only did he cut Dean off, but his words were rude and aggressive. He cursed the wine for loosening his lips.

A snort turned bellowing laugh filled the silence, the sound a joyous symphony to the knight’s ears. “You are as honest as you are humble, knight,” Dean said, recovering from his laugh. The King pondered just for a moment before leaning even closer to Castiel. “Pray tell me you will stay and join us for our holiday festivities. I find your company rather enjoyable.”

While his heart seemed to soar, Castiel couldn’t help the frown from forming on his face.  
“Forgive me, your majesty—”

“Dean. Please call me Dean.”

“Forgive me…Dean…but I am bound to fulfill a promise I made in just four days’ time. I’m afraid I cannot accept your generous offer.”

Dean seemed to hum at his words, curiosity apparent. “Tell me about this promise that has brought you here to my doorstep.” Castiel nodded, unable to deny the King’s request. He animatedly recounted the night the Green Knight burst into the grand hall, how the stranger was as green as he was stunning, how the giant of a knight came in search of a challenge, how Castiel accepted in place of his uncle and the agreed-upon terms. Castiel reiterated the Green Knight’s words—an exchange of blows and seeking the Green Chapel in one year and one day’s time. Dean seemed to be utterly captivated by his words, nodding and humming occasionally throughout Castiel’s story. 

After Castiel wrapped up his tale, Dean seemed to mull over the knight’s words before breaking out into a blinding smile.

“Fortune seems to smile down upon you knight, for you are indeed close to the destination in which you seek. The Green Chapel is just a two-mile horse ride from here. I will have a guide arranged for you. Until then, you shall stay and rest.” Dean wasn’t asking, he was declaring. Castiel let out a breath he was unaware he had been holding. He would now be able to keep his promise to the Green Knight and enjoy his last remaining days. Perhaps fortune did smile upon him now after his many misfortunes thus far. His eyes unwillingly slid from Dean to Dean’s brother, and back to Dean. Given the rare height of both men and being this close to the Green Chapel, Castiel pondered if their lineage descended from long ago giants. 

Pushing aside his roaming thoughts, the knight nodded in agreeance with Dean. “If you will have me, Dean, I would love to stay and enjoy your kingdom’s holiday celebrations.”

A half-teasing, half-mischievous glint overshadowed the joy in the King’s eyes. “Say, won’t you play a game with me over the course of your stay?” A wise man would have learned his lesson, but staring into those eyes, eyes that seemed to have been formed by smelted green gems and poured into perfect emerald pools, a wise man Castiel was not. 

“Of course,” the knight quickly agreed, “but I cannot offer my life, for as you know, it is promised to another.”

The King chuckled. “I’m not asking for your head or your life, just some entertainment.” 

Castiel hummed, interested in what game Dean had thought up. “And what do you propose?” 

“A simple game of exchange,” Dean stated, then clarified. “Tomorrow my brother and I will hunt for our holiday feast. Whatever I win in the hunt will be yours, and whatever you win in my castle shall be mine.”

Castiel tilted his head, a furrow appearing between his brows. “And just what do you think I am to win while lounging around?”

Dean gave a nonchalant shrug. “Who knows. The surprise is what makes the game interesting.” The King held out his hand. “What do you say? Whatever I win will be yours.”

Castiel peered down at the outstretched hand, already knowing his answer. “And whatever I win will be yours,” he mirrored, shaking Dean’s hand and sealing their deal. 

The rest of the evening passed quickly, trading tales of past battles and legends of the land. Castiel found himself being walked to his room by the King himself. Stopping outside the door, Castiel wished the night would not end just yet. 

But alas, with a shoulder clasp and muttered goodnights, Castiel begrudgingly entered his room, ignoring the resounding thudding in his chest. 

Candles bathed the room in warm light. Strolling towards the bed, streaks of moonlight shone through the curtains, reflecting against the Green Knight’s axe that rested in the chair sitting next to the bed. The knight ran a tentative finger along its blade, the cool metal a melancholy reminder of his fleeting time. 

With a somber sigh, the knight crawled into bed. Placing his head on the pillow, weeks of restless sleep made Castiel succumb quickly to a dream world. Dreams filled with golden skin, freckles, and green, green eyes.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the original you know chapter 3 is going to be a doozy. I hope you look forward to the best chapter yet. Drop me a comment or some kudos, they help feed the muse. Also, I just love hearing from you guys. Thank you as always for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Look for part two posting soon! Comments feed my muse and result in quicker chapter posting. Wink Wink.


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